The salt air clung to Clara’s skin as she locked the library door, the click of the latch echoing off the cobblestones. Summer had bled into August, and the town of Marrow’s End felt like a forgotten place, suspended between seasons. She adjusted her woolen scarf, though the heat still pressed against her like a second skin. The dock creaked in the distance, a sound she’d come to associate with him.
Jace stood at the edge of the water, his boots sinking into the mud as he strummed a guitar she’d never seen before. The wood was dark, almost black, and the strings sang with a sound that made her chest ache. She hadn’t meant to stop, but the melody pulled her forward, step by step, until she stood a few feet away. He didn’t look up.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice rougher than she remembered.
“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” she replied, crossing her arms. The scent of rain hung in the air, though the sky was clear. It always did before the storms came.
He finally glanced at her, his eyes sharp and green, like the sea after a storm. “You’re always late.”
“And you’re always here,” she shot back, but there was no bite to it. She hated how her pulse quickened when he was near, how the world narrowed to the sound of his guitar and the way the light caught in his hair.
He plucked a note, low and resonant. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t like it.”
Clara frowned. “Pretend what?”
“That you don’t listen to me every night.” His smile was slow, deliberate. “I hear you in the library, pacing back and forth.”
She felt her cheeks warm, but she refused to look away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” He tilted his head, studying her. “You’re like the tide. Always coming back, even when you swear you won’t.”
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of salt and something else—smoke, maybe, or the faintest trace of lavender. Clara opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on her tongue. She wanted to hate him, to hold onto the anger that had kept her safe for so long. But the truth was, she’d been waiting for this moment all summer.
“I have to go,” she said, turning toward the path that led back to the town.
“Clara,” he called, but she didn’t stop. The dock groaned behind her, and she could feel his eyes on her back, even as she walked away.
—
The next morning, the rain came. It fell in sheets, turning the streets into rivers and the air into a thick, damp fog. Clara sat at her desk, the library silent except for the sound of water hitting the windows. She’d stayed late again, pretending to organize books when she was really just waiting for a knock that never came.
The door swung open with a creak, and Jace stepped inside, his hair soaked, his shirt clinging to his chest. He held up a drenched newspaper, dripping water onto the floor. “I thought you’d be here,” he said, his voice muffled by the rain.
“You’re soaked,” she replied, standing up. Her chair scraped against the floor, and she hated how her heart slammed in her chest.
“I walked from the dock.” He dropped the paper on the counter. “I’ve been trying to find you all morning.”
Clara hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the desk. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did.” He stepped closer, and the smell of rain and smoke filled her lungs. “I’ve been thinking about you every second since last night.”
She swallowed hard. “About what?”
“About us.” His voice was quiet now, almost a whisper. “About what we could be.”
The library felt smaller, the air heavier. Clara wanted to run, to escape the weight of his words, but her feet were rooted to the floor. “We don’t even know each other,” she said, though the words felt hollow.
“I know you,” he said. “I know how you bite your lip when you’re thinking too hard. I know how you get when you’re angry—like a storm waiting to break. And I know that every night, you listen to me play, even when you pretend not to.”
She looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were steady, unflinching. “What are you saying?”
“That I’m not leaving. Not this time.” He reached out, his hand brushing hers. “I’ve been waiting for you, Clara. And I’m done waiting.”
The rain continued to fall, but the world had shifted. Clara felt it in her bones, in the way her breath caught, in the way the library seemed to hold its breath. She didn’t know what came next, but for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid to find out.
—
The weeks that followed were a blur of stolen moments and whispered promises. Jace played his guitar on the dock, and Clara sat on the edge of the water, her feet dangling above the waves. They talked about everything and nothing, their conversations weaving between laughter and silence. The town watched them, whispering about the librarian and the musician, but they didn’t care. Not anymore.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Jace handed Clara a small box. “Open it,” he said, his voice steady but his hands trembling.
She lifted the lid, revealing a silver ring with a single diamond. “Jace,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “This is…”
“It’s not a proposal,” he interrupted, kneeling in front of her. “It’s a promise. A promise that I’ll be here, no matter what. That I’ll fight for us, even when it’s hard.”
Clara knelt beside him, her hand over his. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted. “I’ve spent so long protecting myself.”
“Then let me protect you,” he said. “Let me be the storm that doesn’t break you.”
She leaned forward, their foreheads touching. The world faded away, leaving only the sound of their breaths and the promise of what came next.
—
Years later, Clara would look back on that summer as the moment everything changed. The day she stopped running and started living. And though life would bring its own storms, she knew one thing for certain—she’d never again let fear keep her from the man who had always been waiting.
The last light of summer faded, but the warmth of their love remained, a beacon against the dark.
